


Simplicity in Routine

by ecroeuf



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, i have no idea how to use this website help lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:50:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9652727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecroeuf/pseuds/ecroeuf
Summary: Yuuri can't turn off his brain. He also can't find the will to run all the way to Ice Castle Hasetsu like he usually does when nights like this happen, so he settles for the next best thing. Who knew that all it takes is a conversation above a sleepy bar to settle things?Set after Episode 7 - in the intermission between Cup of China & the Restelecom Cup





	

**Author's Note:**

> I love Yuuri, he's probably the most relatable guy. I had this little idea in my head for a while, and I wanted to start using AO3 to post my fics (i usually use my writing blog on tumblr or ff.net). Please enjoy

When he checks, the clock on his phone tells him that it’s one am.

It had been 5 hours since he crawled into bed, his body sore and his eyes heavy, hoping that as soon as his head hits the pillow he would be out. No such luck, though.

_So, it was going to be one of those nights then._

He had no real reason to be so anxious – tomorrow was just another day of training. The Rostelecom Cup wasn’t for at least another month. He had time to breathe and perfect, so what was the problem? 

Well, the problem in itself was that there _wasn’t_ a problem. Most times, there hardly ever was one. You would think the bouts of anxiety he gets during competitions was the hardest the deal with, but that wasn’t necessarily true. At least during those episodes, he _had_ a solid reason to be anxious. It wasn’t his brain just making up stuff to obsess over.

It was the nights like these, where sleep wasn’t on the itinerary and thoughts pile up and overlap in his head, until he’s swimming in nerves and his heart pounds so fast he’s afraid of it breaking free from his chest, that were inarguably the _worst_. The worst because there’s nothing to do but _think_. The worst because the things that make him anxious are all what-ifs and speculative negativities. The worst because he’s alone and allowed to dwell on them.

First it starts with self-doubt.

He wasn’t his best in practice today. Viktor must be regretting this by now, giving everything up just to coach him. And now he’s thinking about how if he continues to stay up like this, he’ll be even worse in practice _tomorrow_. And that two days in a row of flubbed jumps and sloppy footwork will surely hammer the nail into Viktor’s inevitable decision to leave. He’ll be left alone in Hasetsu once again, forced to watch his former coach take the podium and hold up yet another gold, except this time it will be worse because it will be the gold that they were aiming for, _together._

He knows it’s a doomsday scenario. A very un-rational one that is unlikely to even happen, but that’s the thing about all of this. Nothing about his mind is rational.

There’s only a handful of ways to get around nights like this. The first step is to accept that sleep probably won’t be coming tonight.

The second step is to find repetition.

Normally, he likes to go out on a run; let his mind decide which route to go. If he ends up in Minako’s studio (for which she gave him a key to years ago) then he’ll spend the night stretching, practicing positions, elongating his body until he looks as fragile as a glass and as fluid as the water inside of it. If he ends up at Ice Castle Hasetsu, then he’ll spend the night practicing figures until his mind goes numb, and then random step sequences, and then jumps. 

But practice today was as brutal as it was a failure. His body is sore from falling out of jumps, and he doesn’t want to push it with more skating or dancing. So now what?

_There’s always the alternative option; something he hasn’t done in years._

His door makes a ghost of a sound as he slides it open, and he leaves it open to return to. Out of habit, he peaks over to the door that leads to Viktor’s room. It’s ink black under the slit of the door, his coach probably fast asleep. He’s thankful for the dance training that allows his footfall to barely make a sound, his socked feet navigating him down the hall towards the stairway that leads to the bar below.

The 4th step still has that distinct muted creak as he lowers himself down, and he leans his shoulder against the bannister, his fingers curling around one of the bars. He’s too tall now to peek between the slots in the worn wooden bars, but he finds just pressing his temple to the top of the beam and closing his eyes is enough. It enhances the clinking of the mugs and the low chatter of the patrons.

Before he was old enough to walk the town in the dead of night on route to the studio or the ice rink, Yuuri’s best cure for his restlessness was to sit on the stairs above the bar and watch as his parents and eventually, as the years let on, his sister served the night owl patrons. They usually kept this part of the inn running until 3 in the morning; his parents opting to hire night help as they got older and the toll of staying up late so many days in a row before waking up early the next day was too much to take.

Unlike his frequent night trips to Ice Castle Hasetsu, this nighttime routine of his wasn’t known by anyone else. Generally, he took care to be quiet when he snuck out as a child, less his parents either send him back to his thoughts in bed, or put him to work. And he didn’t mind working in the inn when they needed the extra hands – it was just that he found when he was anxious, the less he was around people and the center of attention, the better. So no one knew he watched, and he was able to perch and just let the sounds of bar life soften his harsh thoughts. 

The only exception to this, however, was Mari – who’d caught him on more than one occasion over the years on her way up the stairs after her shifts ended. She never said anything about it, or told anyone. Instead, she just quietly ruffled his hair on the way up before disappearing into her room.

He doubts his parents know, but that’s just because they were never really as in tuned with him as they thought they were. It wasn’t out of straight neglect – they just had an inn to run, and as it was, Yuuri wasn’t much of an open book anyway.

As he settles in, he opens his eyes to peer under the bannister. He recognizes almost all of the faces in the bar below, his sister one of them.

And there was Viktor, too.

Yuuri watches his coach, perched on one of the bar stools, a half empty mug cradled in his long fingers. He has a soft, tired smile and his attention is turned to Mari as she wipes down the counter, talking to him about something Yuuri can’t quite catch. He must have said something funny in response, because his sister smiles before chuckling softly. She _whaps_ him on the shoulder with the rag before moving to bust the table behind him. Viktor smiles at the playful gesture and Yuuri finds himself grinning too. 

He watches his coach spin on the barstool and lean his elbows on the wooden counter, taking in the scene. Once again, Yuuri is taken with how much time he could spend just watching Viktor. Even off the ice, the Russian man moved with grace and ease; the placement of his body always _just so_. Tonight he looks calm, not as bubbly as his usual self. More subdued. It fits the tranquil scene. 

Her closes his eyes again, willing his sore joints to relax. He’s hoping if he sits here long enough, his brain will catch up with his body and will himself to fall asleep. 

Yuuri hadn’t even realized he was spacing out when the familiar creak of someone coming up the stairs pulled him out. Viktor rounds the corner, hand lazily sliding up the bannister and his head hung. He stops short when he notices someone sitting on the stairs. When he recognizes it as Yuuri, his eyes widen, but he smiles softly. His eyes were sleepy, but his presence was alive, awake, _refreshing_.

“What’s this?” Viktor asks, his accent more pronounced, as it usually is when he drinks. Yuuri always found it fascinating how his accent dips and weaves depending on the state of mind he’s in. Its like he’s slowly slipping back into Russian, without actually doing it. “Can’t sleep?” 

Yuuri shrugs in response, and Viktor returns the shrug with one of his own before setting himself down beside him, the stairs creaking under their conjoined weight.

“ _Mmm,_ ” he presses his shoulder against Yuuri’s and smiles lazily at him, “me too. I went downstairs just to get out the room for a bit, and before I knew it Mari was sliding a mug over. She’s a quick one.”

“She’s had plenty practice,” Yuuri affirms, and Viktor wraps his arm around his shoulders. Mari was always good with the patrons; she knew the routines better than Yuuri did, simply because she lived them day-by-day. She was also more sociable than he ever hoped to be; she had a tongue that spoke the truth, but it always rubbed the right way with the customers who came to the inn. You would never get anything sugar-coated from his sister, and people liked that about her.

“So,” Viktor bumps Yuuri’s shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts, “May I ask why you’re up here watching from afar?” His voice drops, teasing, “Were you _spying_ on me?”

Yuuri jumps, “No! I didn’t even know you were awake. Your light is off in your room so I figured you were asleep.”

“Makkachin is in there sleeping. I would have brought him down to the bar with me, but I didn’t want to make a fuss.” Viktor shrugs, and it’s a lazy full-body shrug that Yuuri can feel because they’re pressed together.

“Ah,” Yuuri hums. They sit quietly then, and Yuuri looks over the side towards the now near-empty bar. Mari is wiping lazy circles on an empty table, eyeing the clock. Though she looks calm, he can tell she’s getting frustrated and would wish the rest of the patrons would finish nursing their drinks and leave.

“What _are_ you doing up here, Yuuri?” Viktor asks again after a moment, pulling his attention away from his sister.

Yuuri ponders how to answer for a beat, “Like you said, couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to be cooped up in my room. I would have gone to the rink,” he wrings his hands, his voice soft, “but I think it would be better to have a few hours away from the ice.” Away from meticulously honing into his body, his faults, his _imperfections…_

Viktor watches him a moment, taking in his expression. Yuuri hopes he’s not giving too much away; that the older man is not seeing beneath his words. See his faulting confidence. It’s a horrifying thing, knowing Viktor can pick up on his habits. That the same diversion words he throws out to his friends and family won’t work on him. “Well…if you would like, we could take a break from training tomorrow. Pick it up again the next day.”

Yuuri ducks his head at the question, looks at his fidgeting hands. _Would he like that?_ A break? His mind is buzzing at the thought; it would be so easy. To crawl in bed and sleep it off – avoid it: his main tactic in dealing with his problems.

But…it feels like cheating. It makes him feel guilty. It makes him feel _weak._

“No, we’ll still train tomorrow.” He says, and it feels finite, as he musters the courage to look at the man beside him, place a hand on his leg.

Viktor smiles and pats his hand, “Good.”

Yuuri returns the smile, and is happy that it feels genuine. Viktor leans over then, spilling himself over Yuuri’s lap to press his head into his chest and look out over the side of the railing. Tentative, Yuuri wraps his arms around Viktor, gently holding him in place. He still wasn’t used to reaching out to people; touching them casually in the way that Viktor always does. For some reason, he was hesitant being hands on with Viktor. He wasn’t much of a touchy-feely person to begin with, but something about it with Viktor took it to a whole new level. He supposes it all boils down to rejection, despite the fact that the Russian man practically melts whenever Yuuri displays any kind of intimacy. Viktor hadn’t rejected his touch yet, so Yuuri took it as a good sign to keep trying.

“Its quite a view you have up here. Perfect for people watching.” Viktor hums, propping his elbows up on Yuuri’s lap to rest his head in his hands.

Looking over the railing, Yuuri supposes it _is_ quite a view.

He thinks of a younger Yuuri, with the ever growing collection of Viktor Nikiforov posters on his walls and the wobbly knees as he mimics his idol’s routines, without the technical grace or poise that years of meticulous coaching helped bring out. Before being granted 24/7 access to a studio or the ice rink, that Yuuri sat here for weeks at a time, on nights like this, willing the turning of his stomach to stop and the unnerving thoughts in his head to turn off. He wonders what little Yuuri would think of it all now. If the phantom of his younger self would appear around the corner, to see him sitting like this with idol, what would he think? Such an odd set of circumstances. He was still waiting for the universe to take back its distributed luck; it was only a matter of time.

“What are you thinking about?”

Yuuri pauses, “It’s just…been a while.”

Viktor is quiet, willing him to continue, so Yuuri keeps talking, “I used to come out here all the time when I was little and I couldn’t sleep. I liked to watch my parents and Mari run the bar. They had routines, you know? The same people would come, the same food would be served, and they prepped to close up at the same time.”

Endless repetition. He liked the science of it; likes the simplicity of routines. He knew which customers ordered what, how long they’d stay, and what their conversation topics would be. There were a set order to things, with a predestined end, and it was a good reminder that not everything in the world was there to shake him up. Even now, all these years later as he slowly exchanged this routine for the one in Ice Castle Hasetsu, the same routines follow. He shrugs weakly, feeling awkward now, as he usually did when he opened up, “Kind of silly, I know.”

Viktor leans up, opting instead to rest a hand on his shoulder and lean into his side, “It’s not silly, Yuuri.” He closes his eyes, smiling softly, “I think it’s nice.”

Viktor’s breath smells faintly of beer, but its not overpowering. Yuuri blushes at the sentiment 

“You know, I was practicing my Japanese tonight,” Viktor murmurs, and then yawns, “I’ll admit, its still pretty awful. But the great thing about a room full of drunk native speakers, is they don’t care while at the same time are completely unabashed in letting you know how bad your pronunciation is.” He chuckles and Yuuri smiles.

“What’d you talk about?”

“Hmm? Oh, the usual. They complimented the weather. I said that their mug was the color orange. They said they liked my hair. I told them Makkachin is a poodle and his fur is soft,” Yuuri laughs and Viktor flicks his nose, “A rather popular conversation topic, though, was you.”

Yuuri blanches, “ _Me?_ ”

“Oh yeah,” he smirks, “the people of Hasetsu love their skating protégé.” It’s a statement that has potential to mock, but the way Viktor says it is soft. Revered. “It’s endearing to hear them talk about you. They’re really proud of you.”

Yuuri bites his lip, uncomfortable. Viktor picks up on this and sits up straight, “Are you upset that we were talking about you?” He looks a little sad and Yuuri’s heart drops.

“No, no it’s just…” He shrugs, trying to find the right words. “Odd, that they see me that way.”

_How could I deserve their pride, when I’ve barely brought them a gold? When I fall on my ass more than I stay upright? When I can barely keep a grip on my mind enough to sleep through the night?_

“I don’t think so,” Viktor leans back, so he’s practically sprawled along the other side of the step to fix Yuuri a look, “It’s not odd at all, actually.”

Yuuri hunches over, not really feeling like arguing on this right now. He knows he’s being irrational and self-depreciating, and once more he knows how Viktor gets annoyed when he gets like this, but he literally can’t help it. It was a day for him, both physically and mentally, and he’s only now reeling from the aftermath of it.

“Yuuri.” Viktor’s tone isn’t sharp – in fact its very low, like a warning a parent may give to a child on the cusp of misbehavior. Yuuri can tell he frustrated, and he almost laughs at the sight. Of course he’s frustrated; Viktor never had to deal with these kinds of thoughts. He doesn’t understand Yuuri can’t just _turn it off_ and exude confidence whenever he pleased. He didn’t get it, and it frightened him. “Why do you think it’s odd?”

What a question. Yuuri looks at his hands, not saying a word, because how do you even start to describe something like this? Such a feeling of inadequacy? How do you look the person you admire most in the eye and tell them how worthless you are? You don’t. Especially when you’re afraid of feeding a fire that has potential to burn you. God _forbid_ Yuuri give Viktor even more ideas on why he should leave. 

After too long of a breath of time to yield any results, Viktor lets it drop with a sigh. Instead, he repositions yet again to wrap an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, pulling the younger skater against his chest. Yuuri is thankful for not having to say anything this time, but he knows it’s going to come back and bite him in the ass at a later point. Viktor may be a perpetually forgetful person, but he _never_ lets conversation topics like this go so easily. Oh well. Another problem for another day.

Instead of dwelling on it, Yuuri tries to focus on something else. He was suddenly very _tired_. He could feel the steady _thump_ of Viktor’s heart against his ear, and he decided he liked focusing on that best.

“So…routines, eh?” Viktor’s voice is ghost-like; as hushed as the moment allows.

Yuuri twiddles his thumbs nervously but nods a little. Since he deflected the earlier conversation, it feels right to divulge a little bit on this question, “Sometimes when I…overthink, and can’t stop, I find that routines and patterns help. When things get overwhelming, it’s good to see things that have a predestined beginning and end.”

“Hmm,” Viktor hums and the sound of it in his chest vibrates against Yuuri’s ear, “That’s good to know. Thank you for telling me about it.”

Yuuri looks up, “Good to know?”

“I like to help when I can, Yuuri,” Viktor squeezes him closer, his words firm, “but I can only help so much if you never give me the tools and show me how.”

 _Ah._ It’s no secret Viktor has yet to really decode how to help when Yuuri gets anxious, despite Yuuri all but screaming it at him. The incident they faced in the Cup of China only cements this fact. Granted, up to that point, it was all in good intentions on Viktor’s part. Yuuri still thinks about how priceless it was to see the look on his face when he started crying, though.

The thought that he’s still trying to get it right is touching, though. 

“For starters, this is good,” Yuuri blushes as he says it, “I like just…siting here, with you.”

“Well,” Viktor responds, his tone teasing, “you’re in luck, because I like it too.”

Yuuri chuckles, and closes his eyes as a hush falls over the two of them.

They sit there together until the bar closes. Yuuri barely realizes Mari had made her way upstairs, until she stops at the sight of the two of them. It’s a beat before she shrugs and moves to sneak around them.

She reaches out on her way by to ruffle both of their hair before continuing on to her room.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on tumblr: [nearlyer](http://nearlyer.tumblr.com/)


End file.
